


Universe, A Star In Yours

by donoteavesdrop



Category: Dunkirk (2017), Dunkirk (2017) RPF, One Direction (Band)
Genre: Aneurin Knows, Angst, Boys In Love, Drunkenness, Falling In Love, Fionn Looks Amazing With His Piercing, Flirting, Friendship/Love, Heartbreak, Kissing, M/M, Pining, Sexual Tension, falling asleep together on set
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-13
Updated: 2017-09-02
Packaged: 2018-12-14 22:09:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11792484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/donoteavesdrop/pseuds/donoteavesdrop
Summary: Fionn knows full well that he has the power to choose—he could love Harry if he wanted to.But at this point in time, after all they’ve been through, how could he not?(Tags updated as the story continues.)





	1. first

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is a multi-chaptered collection of moments between Harry and Fionn, and how their relationship develops. It starts out with a quick scene of them filming Dunkirk, but the other chapters will be set post-filming.
> 
> Expect new chapters every week or every other week. Chapter lengths will vary, with some very short ones and others a bit more lengthy. The M rating will apply in the future chapters, so stay tuned.

“Cut!”

Fionn and Harry shuffle to a place not too far off from where the crew’s shooting, a tiny cove of sand with patches of grass. The spot would become their sanctuary for breaks between filming, a spot they would later on call their own. Today, the wind was offensively ruthless—their wet, heavy military costume and disheveled hair being frazzled by it as they walk towards the spot. As soon as they reach it, they let their bodies collapse gracelessly on the sand, instinctively huddling close to each other.

They’ve just begun the second week of filming Dunkirk and have gotten quite familiar with each other. Though Harry has already gotten to know a bit of Fionn—how he’s quite ill-tempered in early mornings and how frustrated he gets when he can’t eat the chicken and cheese wraps by the stalls nearby due to filming continuously—there’s still a multitude of things Harry has yet to discover about him.

Laconic with a resilience that shows, there’s a quiet intensity about Fionn that inexplicably draws Harry in.

“What other films have you been in?” Harry asks, curious and good natured. They’re both sitting on the sand with their arms propped up on their bent knees, immersing in the the vastness of Dunkirk’s sea, the paleness of the sky and the crew members tirelessly hustling to create a cinematic masterpiece.

Little did Fionn and Harry know the massive success the film would become, and how their lives would never be the same again—in more ways than one.

“This is my first,” Fionn says.

Harry raises his eyebrows, impressed.

“Wow.”

“Been doing theater for a couple of years though,” Fionn shrugs off the compliment and squints at Harry through the harsh winds. “And you?”

“First as well,” Harry stretches, raises his arms and lays down on the sand, resting his head on his palms. Fionn nods at Harry’s reply and reciprocates the same motion, letting his body collapse on the sand.

“You’re like a pro, man,” Harry smiles.

Fionn side eyes him and frowns, uncomfortable with the compliment.

“And you’re not?”

“So different. This whole acting thing.” Harry closes his eyes and starts ruminating on a distant memory. “I remember always feeling nauseated when I was still new to performing, so much so that I’d legitimately throw up before performing live. Would you believe? I threw up 4 or 5 times before a concert. So embarrassing.”

Fionn looks onward and squints at the pale, sweeping sky above.

“Not that hard to believe,” he deadpans.

Harry reaches over to push Fionn on his shoulder, and they both end up in a fit of chuckles.

“How nervous were you on the first day of shooting?” Harry asks.

“Very. Still get nervous though.” Fionn contemplates about asking Harry the same question, pleasantly surprised at how genuinely curious Harry was about him. “Just not as intense as the first week. And you?”

“Well,” Harry frowns thoughtfully. “I’m relieved to know I’m not the only one who’s quite new to this. So, maybe from being 100% nervous last week, I’m now down to a good, I don’t know, 99%?”

Fionn suppresses a smile, knowing exactly how Harry feels. He gives a nod, shifts his line of vision from Harry to the immense sky above them, and closes his eyes. “Yep.”

In a matter of a few minutes, with the crashing waves in the distance and the sound of the breeze lulling them into a trance, they fall asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by the 'How Well Do The Dunkirk Cast REALLY Know Each Other?' interview and how Fionn did [amazingly.](https://youtu.be/2EO_oYhVQvk?t=21s)
> 
> Hit me up at @donoteavesdrop on Tumblr, if you'd like.


	2. second

The first time Harry actually notices Fionn’s ear piercing was during the press junket of Dunkirk. He may have known Fionn having a piercing while filming the movie, he can’t really recall, as it’s not a detail that one finds striking in a person, especially when there’s no earring being worn. 

But then there Fionn is, donning a silver hoop earring on his left ear lobe, adding a bit of an edge and flair to his look. 

For whatever inexplicable reason, Harry couldn’t stop thinking about it.

Was it envy on how stylish Fionn effortlessly looked despite not being fashion conscious? Was it curiosity about Fionn’s quirks that Harry still seems to be unravelling even when they’ve known each other for more than a year? Was it how ambiguous Fionn is despite being, for a lack of a better term, a simple and straightforward guy? It struck a chord with Harry that he couldn’t place his finger on. 

In fact, it unnerved him.

“I really like your piercing,” Harry says casually. He and Fionn are seated by one of the tables laid out for the cast during press junket interview breaks. The two were given a twenty minute break before Jack, Tom and Barry would join them for another round of interviews. A couple of meters away, the film’s PR team was busy rearranging the set for the interviews. 

“Thanks.” 

“Looks good on you.”

Fionn hesitates a bit, but takes the compliment anyway. He feels heat rise up his neck.

“It’s alright.”

“Was thinking of getting one myself. Doing it myself, even.”

Fionn almost snorts, “I’d love to see that.”

“Go all Parent Trap with just a needle and an apple slice, you know?”

“What?”

“The film, Parent Trap? With Lindsay Lohan playing twins?”

Fionn shakes his head, lower lip jutted out. 

“Haven’t seen it.”

As if Fionn had just committed a cardinal sin, Harry frowns at him in disbelief. After exclaiming an exasperated, ‘But it’s a classic!’, he then proceeds to enthusiastically describing the scene in full detail. He knew Fionn couldn’t care less about the need to be exposed to pop culture ‘classics’, but Harry continues anyway, finding it both endearing—and a bit hilarious—how Fionn politely listens to a default. 

“So what made you decide to get one on your left ear?” 

“Don’t know, just felt like it.” Fionn shrugs, feeling a bit self-conscious with Harry observing him like this. He goes along with it anyway and shifts the attention to Harry, reaching over to point at an inked portion on Harry’s left hand. Ever so slightly, with his index finger, Fionn grazes a small area on the back of Harry's left hand, just beneath where his thumb and index finger part.

“What made _you_ decide to get a tattoo of a cross on your left hand?”

They both don’t know it, but the gesture alerts them both. At a loss for words, Harry pauses, feeling oddly exposed. He’s gone shirtless in front of millions of hungry eyed fans, and yet here he is, fully clothed, quivering at Fionn’s silent observance and keen sense of detail of his tattoos. 

Harry finds that Fionn seems to be having this effect on him lately. Filming Dunkirk together had been quite an experience, but doing promotions together is a whole ‘nother ball game. They’ve been doing quite a lot of interviews together, just the two of them, and just when they thought they couldn’t get any closer, it seems that they’ve started treading on territory that explores their more vulnerable—dangerously intimate, even—sides.

“Well,” Harry clears his throat and does his best poker face. “My tattoos are inspired by the happenings of my life—my relationships, my experiences, my views—so I decided to get one that embodies my spiritual beliefs and I thought, hmm, I’m not very religious, I’m not really a religious person, so I decided to make this fact known and be avant-garde about it by getting a Satanist tattoo.” 

Fionn throws his head back and erupts in laughter. Harry smiles with half-lidded eyes, watching the Adam’s apple of Fionn bob beneath his pale skin.

“No, um,” Harry looks away, shifting his position. “I don’t know. I just felt like it.”

They both smile inwardly. 

“Plan on getting any tattoos?”

“Maybe. Not too soon, though. Bit of a bother, isn’t it? Covering it up with concealer.”

“Ah, well,” Harry shrugs. “If ever you go for it. Call me and I’ll hook you up. I know the best artists in town.”

When the the rest of the cast members arrive to sit by them, Fionn and Harry simultaneously disperse, only then realizing how physically close they had been to each other.

 _Were they flirting?_ Fionn thinks to himself, chest trembling as he bites and licks his dry lips. He nods greetings to the other boys, Tom sliding in the space between them while Barry and Jack casually stand in front of them. They make small talk, Harry asking how their other interviews went, Tom talking about a burger joint he wants to try nearby. When they’re all called over to start with the the next round of interviews, Harry waits for the rest to go ahead before walking by Fionn’s side to the set. 

Since then, Fionn finds himself wearing his earring whenever Harry is around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because Fionn looks hella fine in his [i-D shoot](https://i-d.vice.com/en_uk/article/7xbv7q/star-of-dunkirk-fionn-whitehead-on-rejecting-fame) and I'm particularly fond of the way Harry looks at Fionn [here.](https://donoteavesdrop.tumblr.com/post/164157522576)
> 
> Hit ya girl up on [Tumblr](https://donoteavesdrop.tumblr.com/), if you please!


	3. third

“Man, the bloody interviewers won’t quit it.”

The two survive the onslaught of interviews for the day, having gone through so many that they’ve lost count. Microphones removed, inner guards down, Harry is sidled up next to Fionn as they walk out of the set. 

“With the whole…” Harry flounders, an uncomfortable strain evident on his face.

Fionn knows what Harry is talking about. It's about the media zeroing in on him being an enormous pop star from One Direction instead of focusing on the main and only agenda that is Dunkirk. Instead of delving into the incredible story of the film and all that was done to portray it, most interviewers instead try to bank on Harry’s fame by asking him about his acting career, his singing career, and inanities such as his hair, even. All the cast members and staff were aware of this unfortunate phenomena, but none of them have explicitly poked fun of it seeing how uncomfortable it made Harry—and everyone else—feel. 

It’s the giant elephant running across the room. Doing somersaults and hopping around in circles, even. 

Hearing the tension in Harry’s voice makes Fionn speak before he continues, cutting him from slack. “Don’t worry about it, man,” he gives Harry a casual pat on the back.

“Look, I really wish,” Harry speaks earnestly, slowly. “I’m so sorry ab—“

“Hey, it’s alright,” Fionn’s assurance is firm. “It’s not like it’s your apology to give. I mean, you are who you are.”

“Stop.”

“No, what I mean is,” Fionn stops in his tracks, an easy smile on his face realizing how that didn’t sound right. “Media’s media, isn’t it? The interviewers and the publications, they’re the ones to blame. Certainly not you.”

Harry lets the gravity and sincerity of Fionn’s words sink in, a slow smile forming on his face. Harry couldn’t remember a time when he had felt so much comfort from a friend. It chokes him up a bit.

“Thanks, man.” 

“I understand,” Fionn adds as an afterthought. They continue walking. “In fact, I’m sure we all do.”

Fionn really does understand. It doesn’t get any less annoying, but he completely understands. He likes Harry a lot, with his non-existent ego, warm demeanor and no-holds-barred kindness. A tad too energetic at times, a bit too flirty for Fionn’s liking, but he’s a natural performer, witty, charismatic, knows when to play it up or down when it’s needed. With the immense pressure of fame thrown at him, he remains to handle uncomfortable situations with such grace and humility that impresses Fionn like no other. 

It’s easy to see how anyone can be fond of the guy. To see Harry worried about the implications of his fame to the integrity and image of the film makes Fionn feel terrible. He really doesn’t mind taking a bit of the backseat in interviews even if he’s the main lead of the film. In fact, he’ll gladly let Harry shine brilliantly as he does while he takes a comfortable place by his side.

When Harry doesn’t find the words to reply, a grateful smile on his lips and an easy arm wrapped around Fionn’s shoulder, Fionn realizes that he really doesn’t mind at all.


	4. fourth

“Have you seen the way he looks at you?”

Harry furrows his eyebrows and glances at the direction Aneurin nodded at. From where Harry and Aneurin are seated on the luxurious red leather couch inside the dimly lit pub, Fionn is seen a couple of meters away ordering a drink by the wood panelled bar. 

“What do you mean?”

Aneurin leans in closer and stares at Harry hard in the eyes. 

“Anything up between you two?”

Bemused and slightly entertained, Harry shoots Aneurin a quizzical look.

“Have you had one two many scotch glasses to drink?” Harry playfully nudges Aneurin’s shoulder with his, casting a glance at Fionn’s back from across the room. He takes a sip from his champagne flute and tells Aneurin, “Goodness. It’s only ten, mate.” 

“Come on. I mean,” Aneurin’s scrutinizes Harry’s face, questioning and good-mannered, the way Aneurin always is. With his easygoing and brotherly nature, paired with big, expressive eyes that almost forces you to let your guard down and reveal the darkest crevices of your soul, it was easy to see how Aneurin can get away with asking just about anything without offending anyone.

“Have you seen the way he looks at your hands?”

“How would you even know how Fionn looks at my hands?” Harry never really thought of his hands as anything out of the ordinary. He wears rings in pairs of two or three on his fingers that aren’t particularly hand model material, and he knows his hands aren’t exactly too big or too tiny to give a second glance at. 

“I watch interviews of the cast on YouTube.”

“That sounds really creepy.”

“Don’t you watch interviews of yourself?” Aneurin responses noncommittally. 

Images of him with just about everyone he’s had even the slightest contact with surface in Harry’s mind. He doesn’t even want to describe the chaos that YouTube is when his own name is searched.

“Definitely not.”

“Okay then, well,” Aneurin shrugs, gives Harry a good natured wink. “I was just messing with you. Forget I asked.”

“How’s it going, fellas,” Fionn approaches the table instantaneously, holding a mug of beer filled to the brim.

“Speaking of the devil,” Aneurin mutters and greets Fionn by raising his scotch glass.

“Hmm?”

Harry waves a dismissive hand at Aneurin and smiles at Fionn, “Oh, don’t mind him.”

Fionn crooks his neck and frowns for a second. Shrugging, he points at Harry, “You like vodka shots, right?” and casually slides right next to him on the spacious couch. “The bartender asked me to order shots for our table, on the house apparently, us being part of the cast of Dunkirk and all, and I remember you mentioning before how vodka shots were your favorite.”

“Yeah,” Harry feels his body tense up. “Yeah, I do.” He doesn’t even need to look at Aneurin’s face to know he was donning a sly, all-knowing look as he takes a sip of his scotch glass. That asshole. 

In an effort to shake off the tension he was feeling, Harry reverts the energy to a physical object instead. He slams the table, much to Fionn's and Aneurin's amusement. It was going to be an interesting night indeed. 

“Bring ‘em over!”


	5. fifth

If coaxed to admit if he saw it coming, Fionn would answer yes.

It frankly felt like a long time coming. Like standing on a minefield all this time and detonating a land mine by lifting one’s foot. Like all the surreptitious glances, lingering touches and needless caring actually amounted to something. Something tangible, real, unimagined. Fionn thought he had been delusional all this time, what with Harry’s unabashed attentiveness and charm with just _being_ the way he is. He thought it was just his old self being presumptuous. 

On that same night the cast have a drink at a pub, they have their first kiss.

It involves shady corners, being irresponsibly drunk, and having an intense need for body warmth.

Fionn thinks, what a fucking cliché.

The music’s steady bass thumps vaguely in the background, and Fionn’s not sure if it’s the acoustics of the restroom or his sobriety fading with each thump. The cages of his chest are guided by each dwindling beat, until the walls he so perfectly built around his heart are obliterated, and all he can focus on are Harry’s moist, bee-stung lips, and bloody hell, Fionn inwardly gasps, all the sinful things he could do with them.

Harry’s got him pushed back against the wall, hands on either sides of his waist. Fionn can’t remember how they ended up like this, maybe a bit of roughhousing here and there, an empty locked cubicle and fighting over who gets to go to the last loo left. Harry said he really needed to take a piss, to which Fionn hazily recalls not letting him because of how much more he drank than Harry (if he remembers correctly?), which makes him more deserving of going to the loo first.

But all of that seems like an epoch ago. Fionn’s breath hitches, his palms rested on Harry’s shoulders. When Harry leans forward, for a second Fionn thinks Harry was going to bite his neck, but when he feels soft lips plant a kiss on that sensitive spot below his ear, Fionn shuts his eyes tight and wistfully wonders if Harry will remember all of this in the morning.

Fionn freezes, Harry notices, and they both pause for a moment. When Fionn doesn’t push him away, simply tightens his grip on Harry’s shoulders as if to say yes, please go on, I’m not going to push you away, Harry’s emboldened enough to give him a second kiss, this time at a lower portion of his neck. Fionn feels blood jolt up between his legs and he tries his hardest not to make his legs give out.

If it’s the inebriation moving him, or the acceptance of his deep-seated fondness of Harry despite his constant bickering with him, Fionn musters the courage to reciprocate the gesture. He pulls back a bit, slowly leans forward and tentatively kisses Harry on the same spot he kissed him—just where his jaw ends, right below his ear on his neck.

Like a wakeup call, Harry gently pulls away, but not far enough that they don’t feel their breaths against each other’s skin. He searches Fionn’s eyes, gazing, poker face on, time standing still. The moment is sobering for both, as if they had just opened Pandora’s box and they’re not quite sure whether to keep it open or not.

Fionn gulps and waits for Harry to say something, anything at all. Fionn tries to come up with a snarky, sarcastic one-liner, anything, but he doesn’t find the words, a gridlock in his throat. He sees Harry trapped in the same situation, and his eyes are a beautiful shade of hazel-green-blue, it reminds Fionn of early mornings by the lake and how the light shines beautifully on the water.

“This is trouble,” Fionn shudders, not so much as a question but a statement that Harry agrees to because he then kisses Fionn like he’s shutting him up, _let us have this moment,_ their mouths entangled, open mouthed kiss right away, emboldened, hungry but gentle.

“Are you—” Harry pulls back, breathing heavily. “Is this okay?”

Fionn searches Harry’s face and he’s certain they’ll both remember this moment in the morning. “If it is with you.”

“I wasn’t sure.” A tentative smile slowly appears on Harry’s face, and he looks so painfully sweet like this struggling with apprehension. “But when we were playing fuck-marry-kill earlier with the boys, and you chose to fuck me… I thought I might as well give it a shot.”

“For a man of your wit, you can be so painfully dense sometimes, Harry.”

“You’re too good for me.”

The statement takes Fionn aback so much that all he could do was pull back, frown incredulously and shake his head.

“That’s nonsense.”

Harry shrugs and scratches the back of his head. “It’s true.”

Fionn looks down at his own shoes, shaking his head. “Don’t even get me started on you.”

“I really mean it,” Harry says.

And then they’re kissing again, Harry gripping the front of Fionn's shirt, pulling him forward for a kiss and pushing him against the bathroom wall. They explore each other’s lips by pressing on each other’s, overwhelmed at the comfort that soft kisses bring in the dark, griminess of the night. Just when Fionn opens his mouth and feels a sliver of Harry's tongue, their breaths reeking of alcohol, they hear boisterous laughing and shuffling footsteps outside the restroom.

They stumble away from each other and turn their heads towards the door, hearts racing. Before anyone can enter, Harry squeezes Fionn’s wrist to let him know he’s leaving, turns his heel, mumbles a low _catch you later_ , and exits the restroom. Fionn nods at him, trying to keep his cool, and then there goes Harry, disappearing like an apparition.

Trying to process what in the world just happened, he walks towards the sink and composes himself by washing his hands. His chest is still pounding when he stares at himself in the mirror, letting the faucet’s water wash his hands clean.

_Harry Styles._

He turns the faucet off and waits for somebody to enter the restroom, gripping the sides of the sink. It could have been ten seconds of waiting, one minute, Fionn really couldn't tell. But nobody enters.

_He’ll break my fucking heart._

Fionn shakes his wet hands and hastily grabs paper towels to wipe them. When he stares at the mirror, skin flushed and eyes glassy, he can still feel Harry's hands from where his shirt is crumpled.


End file.
